


fairytale of los angeles

by gennified



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Gen, JATP Secret Santa 2020, cookie shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gennified/pseuds/gennified
Summary: Reginald moves to L.A. with a suitcase, his cello, and about three hundred dollars.Within a month, he has a new nickname, a bass guitar, and friends for life.
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Nick & Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111





	fairytale of los angeles

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays to @justaphantomband on tumblr from your @jatpsecretsanta! i hope you are having a wonderful holiday season and best wishes in the new year!

Reginald moves to L.A. with a suitcase, his cello, and about three hundred dollars. 

He had applied to colleges in his senior year of high school, and even gotten into a few, but higher education was never in the cards for him and within weeks, he was back at his parents’ ranch, much to their disappointment. 

The frequent arguing between his parents took a turn after he got back, this time over whose fault it was that he’d barely made it through two months at the University of Montana. So, as soon as he’d saved up a couple of hundred dollars from tutoring his neighbor’s daughter in math, he left a note for his parents, bought a bus ticket to L.A., and was on his way to make a name for himself.

Unfortunately, ‘making a name for himself’ wasn’t as instantaneous as he had hoped. 

For now, a week after his arrival to the City of Angels, he is sleeping on his cousin’s couch and after failing to even get a single audition for any of the orchestras in the city, starting a job at _Milk Jar Cookies_ , a popular gourmet cookie shop on the Miracle Mile. 

It’s not so bad, really. Sure, the temptation to eat every double chocolate chip cookie on display is a constant stressor, but he could deal with that. His mom had barely let him touch sweets when he was a child. He is good at denying himself the simple pleasures in life because of it. 

The customers, however, are a different story entirely. 

“I’m telling you,” a short girl with dark curly hair says in utmost exasperation to the guy in a sleeveless tank _and_ sleeveless hoodie as they try to pick out their order, “Carlos is my brother, and I know his favorite cookies are oatmeal raisin. Let’s just get him that.”

“And I’m telling you,” the floppy-haired sleeve-hater replies in equal exasperation, “that your brother has terrible taste, and we should just get him a regular chocolate chip instead. Teach him what good cookies actually taste like.”

“If it helps,” Reginald pipes in, “we have an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie, too. Best of both worlds.” 

“The oatmeal is the worst part!” replies No Sleeves as he stalks off.

“Luke! You were supposed to pay!” shouts the girl, but the boy-- Luke-- doesn’t listen. 

She frowns, first at the display of cookies, and then at Reginald. “I’m sorry, just forget our order.”

“I got it, Julie, don’t worry about it,” replies a voice from behind them, a blond in an impossibly pink hoodie. Something about his face is remarkably familiar to Reginald, but he’s only been in town for a week. There’s no way he actually knows this guy.

“Thanks, Alex, I’ll pay you back,” replies the girl. And then it clicks for him-- Alex. 

He does know a blond Alex from L.A., or at least he knew a blond Alex from L.A. when he was kid going to bible camp outside of Whitefish every summer until Alex mysteriously stopped appearing the summer after he turned 14. 

Looking at him again, Reginald is sure it's the same kid who had cried the first night they shared a cabin together because the sheets on the cot were scratchy and he wanted his own bed and also the same kid who, later that summer, got in trouble for stealing a canoe when Reginald had dared him. But they had become fast friends after that, always assigned to the same cabin. He had looked forward to seeing Alex every summer, to hear about the wonders and adventures of living in L.A. 

“Sorry about that,” says Alex, as he steps forward. Julie, as Alex had called her, has disappeared, presumably to track down Luke, the hater of oatmeal and sleeves. “Can we just get four oatmeal raisin cookies? That should teach Luke a lesson.” 

Reginald nods as he fills the order, debating whether or not he should say anything. He and Alex had been friends, at some point in their lives, but it’s been about five years since the last time they had even spoken. He doesn’t know why Alex stopped coming to camp, and Alex had never tried to reach out to him to explain why, either. 

Still, it _would_ be nice to be on a first name basis with someone in L.A. other than his cousin.

Alex beats him to the punch, however. 

“Wait… Reginald?” Alex has paused from taking his wallet out of the fanny pack slung across his chest. “Cowboy Reg?”

“That’s me,” he replies with a grin. He never minded that nickname-- it was true, to some extent. His parents did own a ranch after all, and to all the other kids at camp when they were nine, that had made Reginald as good as a real cowboy. “Long time no see.” 

“Yeah… yeah, long time no see,” Alex replies back, though he looked more visibly shaken than Reginald would have hoped at seeing a long-lost friend. “What are you doing in L.A.?”

He shrugs. “Montana got boring. I wanted to see if I could make it big out here.”

“Right.” Alex nods. “Well, good luck to you.” That wasn’t exactly what Reginald was expecting. “Sorry, what was the total? We’re kind of in a hurry.” 

“Oh, sure.” He rings up the order, studying how closed off Alex had become since he had recognized him. “Why did you stop coming to camp? I missed you, dude.” 

A beat of silence as Alex counts out exact change for the order. “Got too expensive to send me all the way out to Montana every summer, I guess,” replies Alex eventually. 

“Got it.” That does make sense, Reginald tries to rationalize, as he slides the box of cookies across the counter. “Well, now we’re in the same place, let’s catch up sometime?” 

“Uh, sure. I guess I’ll see you around.” And with that, he takes the cookies and immediately heads out the door. He doesn’t even leave a phone number.

Reginald frowns. So much for catching up with an old friend.

\----

“Do you have a community board? To hang up local advertisements?” asks a customer to him early on in his shift the next day. 

“I don’t think so,” Reginald replies, hoping for the day that he could sound a little more confident. He’s barely been here long enough to know where they keep the extra boxes, let alone anything on the other side of the counter. 

“Oh.” The young man deflates a little. “Could I hang up a flyer in the window, maybe?”

Reginald really wishes the manager hadn’t just gone out to grab lunch. He has no idea how to handle this.

“Honestly? I just started a few days ago and my manager isn’t here, so…” he starts, trailing off when he realizes there’s no satisfactory conclusion to his statement. In his few days working retail, he’s come to understand that just about anything can set a customer off. He still hasn’t, however, perfected the art of learning how to avoid that yet. 

This guy, at least, seems much more relaxed. “Okay, well, is it possible I could leave this flyer with you and you can ask them when they get back?” he asks, as he slides a colorful sheet of paper across the countertop. 

“Yeah, sure… wow, a Battle of the Bands!” he exclaims as he pulls the flyer closer for a better look. 

“Yeah! On New Years’ at the Community Center on Cloverdale. We’re raising money for homeless trans youth in the area. You interested?” asks the other guy, his eyes brightening at the prospect. “I’m Nick, by the way.”

“Reginald,” he responds, pointing at his name tag. “If I was in a band, I would be totally interested. But I’ll still come by to watch.” He still doesn’t really have any extra money for a ticket, but he’ll make it work somehow. 

“Awesome, that’s great. I just hope we can get a few more bands to join. There’s no real prize or anything, since it’s just for charity, so a lot of groups aren’t willing,” Nick responds, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

“I’ll make sure my manager has it hung up,” Reginald replies quickly. “We’ll find you some more bands, don’t worry.” 

Nick grins at him. There’s no way Reginald can actually guarantee that he’ll find any more bands, but the least he can do is help advertise it. “Amazing, thank you guys so much. I’ll see you there!” 

Reginald looks down at the flyer again. For a moment, he’s filled with the same wistful yearning that comes every time he thinks about a career in music. His mother had been an orchestra cellist when she was young, but she had quit as soon as she was married, raising Reginald, and his brothers when they came, instead of pursuing her true passion. Sometimes it felt like she had resented her children for that. She had instilled in them from a very young age the beauty of music, and Reginald himself had been classically trained on the cello since he was big enough to hold one. As he got older, his musical interests had broadened. He still appreciated classical music, but he had come to love country and rock, too. Unfortunately, his mother had less passion for these, and he had never been allowed to pursue those interests. 

Maybe he could somehow join a band. But what kind of band needed a cello player? Perhaps he could try to learn some more contemporary pieces and enter himself in as a solo act. Didn’t he come to L.A. to make it big?

\--- 

The cookie shop does have a community board, Reginald finds out when he asks his manager after he gets back from lunch. It’s a bit in the back, behind some fluffy armchairs, which makes it not the most prime location for people to find it. Personally, Reginald would have preferred to hang the poster on the glass front doors, or even tape it to the countertop, where the highest number of people could see it, but the manager vetoes all of those ideas. 

So, Reginald hangs it on the back community board, and every time he has a chance to get out from behind the counter, he checks the flyer to make sure no one steals it or defaces it.

Today, he’s been asked to pick up all the trash and used napkins scattered around the tables and chairs, which is definitely not his favorite task in the world. The flyer is still there, at least, when he checks on it. He notices it’s a little crooked and is moving to adjust in, when a familiar voice chimes from behind him. 

“A Battle of the Bands? No way!” 

Reginald spins to find the sleeve-hater from a few days ago, the short girl who had been arguing with him not far behind. Luke and Julie, Reginald remembers them calling each other. Alex isn’t anywhere in sight. 

“You guys are in a band?” he asks, taking the flyer down and handing it over to an eager Luke. Julie has to stand on her tiptoes to see from around Luke, but she looks just as excited as he does. 

“Julie and the Phantoms,” she tells him. “Tell your friends!” 

Reginald doesn’t really have any friends, but he doesn’t want to admit that out loud. 

“You should totally sign up!” 

“Yeah, but our bass player just quit a few weeks ago,” replies Luke, a frown forming on his lip. “We can’t compete without a full line up.”

“We sounded good at practice the other day even without him,” Julie points out. “And I can try to play the bassline on the keyboard. It’s not the same but…” 

“No way, we need your energy out from behind the keyboard, Jules,” replies Luke. “We need to find a new bass player. It’s the only long-term solution.” 

“Maybe we can put an ad up here?” asks Julie, looking at Reginald for permission. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think my manager will allow that. He only let me put this one up because it’s for charity.”

“Charity?” She turns to Luke. “Then we have to sign up for it.” 

Luke sighs, turning to Reginald. “You don’t happen to know any bass players, do you?”

“Nope,” he replies. Then, he blurts, “I play the cello, though.”

Eyes widening in excitement, Luke responds, “That’s pretty much the same thing, isn’t it?”

“Not remotely,” Reginald replies with a laugh. “You’re thinking of a stand-up bass. The cello is way smaller.” 

“Oh.” Luke looks small again. “Then why did you say you could play cello?”

Reginald shrugs. 

“Well, if you do come across any bass players, could you let us know?” asks Julie.

“Yeah, of course,” he replies. Luke hands him back the flyer, and the two take their leave, arguing on the way out over whether advertising on Craigslist for a bass player is any better than Facebook’s marketplace. 

Reginald looks down at the flyer in his hands again. If only he had the money for a bass, he thinks. Maybe the cello is tuned differently, and the bass doesn’t use a bow, and the orientation is completely rotated, but how hard could it be to learn? With a resigned sigh, he hangs the flyer up again. 

\---- 

He doesn’t have much luck on the bass-player-finding front over the next few days, especially after his manager has to step in to tell him to stop asking every customer that comes in if they can play the bass. 

That Monday, his bus breaks down, and he winds up a whopping forty minutes late to work. The store is a total madhouse when he arrives, office Christmas parties in full swing and in need of cookies. The person that he was supposed to be relieving glares daggers at him as he quickly ties his apron around his waist. 

“What can I get for you?” he asks the next customer in line.

“Um, actually, I’m looking for someone,” says the customer, a young man around Reginald’s age with long hair and a skateboard tucked under his arm. 

Reginald makes a cursory glimpse around. The shop is as packed as he’s ever seen it. “I’m not sure I can be of much help there. I just got here.” At the other man’s fallen expression, Reginald continues, “But maybe I can still help. Go ahead.”

“He’s a tall blond guy. Usually wearing a pink hoodie?” 

Reginald doesn’t have to think too hard. He’s only seen one pink hoodie-wearing guy in the shop since he started. “Oh, Alex?” 

The customer brightens immediately. “Yeah, I was supposed to meet him here. Has he already been in line?” 

“No clue, sorry,” replies Reginald. This person is his first customer of the day. But he scans across the shop, and sure enough, seated at a table with his pink hoodie and fanny pack protectively laid across the only empty chair left in the entire shop, is Alex. “Oh, there he is.”

The customer grins widely, thanking Reginald, and disappears into the swell of the crowd. 

Reginald doesn’t have time to watch after that, the next customer pressing forward with insistence, and it’s not until half an hour later, when the crowd has finally thinned, that he’s able to check up on them. 

They’ve pulled their chairs closer together, so that they are almost touching, and the other guy has his arm resting across the back of Alex’s chair. Alex must have just said something hilarious, because the other boy’s head is thrown back in laughter, while Alex looks at him in nothing short of pure adoration. 

And then he realizes why Alex stopped going to bible camp in the summers, and why, when they saw each other again, Alex was wary of someone like Reginald who had kept going until the summer he turned 18. 

There’s got to be a way to let Alex know that he’s okay with it, Reginald thinks. 

In the next lull of customers, he grabs two cookies, a peppermint bark and a cinnamon sugar, and walks them over to their table. 

He clears his throat to get their attention, and Alex jumps. He probably hadn’t even realized that Reginald was working today. “We’re actually having a special right now for couples,” he lies, as he lays the plate down on the table. “If you come on a date, you get two free cookies.”

Alex’s cheeks turn pink enough to match his sweatshirt. “We’re not-- this isn’t--” he starts, but the other guy interrupts him, saying, “Thank you, we really appreciate it.”

There’s more customers gathered at the register again, so Reginald leaves with a wink. 

It takes a while to find another break, mostly because it’s getting later in the afternoon and they’ve sold out of all of their good cookies. He’s turned around, cleaning a counter in the back when a voice makes him jump. 

“Hey.” It’s Alex. The other guy must have left while Reginald wasn’t paying attention. “Thanks for the cookies earlier,” he says, softly. “There wasn’t really a special, was there? Because it’s not advertised anywhere.” 

Reginald shrugs. “You guys were cute, and I wanted to give you cookies. Seems special enough to me.” 

“Your manager is going to kill you,” Alex replies with a roll of his eyes.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt. Besides, this is a cookie shop and it’s almost Christmas. If spreading cheer isn’t part of my job, then I don’t know what is.”

“That’s not… okay.” 

“So who’s the guy?” asks Reginald. He hopes that he can open Alex up a bit more and build back the friendship they used to have as kids. 

It’s getting more and more lonely in L.A. 

“Willie.” Alex can’t hide his grin, although Reginald can tell he’s trying. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not yet, but… well, this was our first date.” 

“Wait, really? You guys looked like you’ve been dating for years.” He pauses. “I hope I didn’t mess anything up by calling you guys a couple.”

“He mostly just thought it was hilarious. And apparently, peppermint bark is his favorite, so you really made his day.” 

“I live to serve,” he replies. “It’s good to see you again, by the way.”

Alex nods, a look of guilt creeping onto his face. “Yeah, sorry about last time. I really was in a hurry. But do you want to do something this weekend? Catch up?”

Reginald grins. “I’d love that.”

\---- 

Alex invites him to Santa Monica that Sunday, to see the pier and hang out with Luke and Julie, as well as their friend Flynn. Alex plays drums in their band, he finds out, and Flynn is their manager. 

“Any luck finding a bassist then?” he asks between bites of greasy boardwalk pizza. 

“Nope,” replies Luke sullenly. “We’ve had a few people that were interested, but none of them fit our vibe.” 

Flynn rolls her eyes. “Luke is very picky about who he lets in the band. Especially after the Bobby incident.”

“You sure you can’t convert your cello into a bass somehow, Reggie?” asks Alex. 

He feels his heart stop in his chest for a second. _Reggie_. He’s never been called that before. Sometimes Reg, for short, but never Reggie. His mother had homeschooled him his entire life, and outside of the kids at summer camp who called him Cowboy, or some of the few children in the houses surrounding his ranch, he’d never been close enough with anyone to earn an affectionate nickname. 

“Completely different tunings. It would never work,” he replies once he’s recovered. “I kind of want to buy a bass, but I’m saving up for an apartment right now.”

Luke nods, but Reggie can see the faintest traces of a pout forming on his lips. Flynn opts to change the subject. “Where are you staying now?”

“On my cousin’s couch, but it feels like she’s going to kick me out any day now. I told her it would only be a few days, so I’ve kind of overstayed my welcome,” he admits, rubbing at a scuff on his boot with his other foot. He hasn’t told this to anyone because he hasn’t had anyone to tell it to. As much as he loves his job at _Milk Jar Cookies_ , it doesn’t pay enough for him to rent a place in L.A. or even the suburbs. If he does get kicked out, it’s either the streets or crawling back to Montana with his tail between his legs. 

He hasn’t spoken to his parents since the day he left, and he doesn’t want to imagine what they’ll say if he shows up back on their doorstep again, just like he did after he dropped out of college. 

Luke and Alex share a look. 

“You don’t have another place to say?” Julie asks. 

Reggie shakes his head. 

Luke and Alex seem to be having an entire conversion with just their eyes, and the group falls silent until Luke breaks away eventually. “Do you want to come stay with us?”

Reggie drops his pizza crust. “What? You guys have a place?”

“Well, it’s more of a garage,” Alex admits. “But yeah. There’s enough space for another person. You’ll have to sit through our band practices, though.” 

“ _My_ garage,” Julie points out, and for the briefest moment Reggie is afraid this means that she will rescind their offer. Instead, she says, “I can ask my dad if we can use the air mattress until we can find you a real mattress.” 

“Are you guys serious? You don’t even know me.”

“Hey, I know you,” protests Alex. Reggie wants to point out that they’ve barely spoken in five years, but he doesn’t get the chance. 

“And you have a good vibe,” adds Luke. “I’m a pretty good judge about those things. You’ll fit right in with us.” 

\---

Not even a day later, Reggie is hauling his suitcase and his cello into a garage in Los Feliz. His commute to work has suddenly become a lot more complicated, but he doesn’t have to worry about finding his stuff on the side of the road when he comes back from a shift anymore, either. 

When he first drops his belongings in the corner of the garage that Luke and Alex had cleaned up for him, Luke is all over his cello. 

“Can you play something for us?”

Reggie shrugs and pulls out his bow. 

He can play “Carol of the Bells” in his sleep, but the excitement on his new roommates’ faces as soon as he starts playing pumps new energy into him, and even though he hasn’t played since he arrived in L.A., it’s the best he’s played in years. Certainly, it’s the most passionate he’s played since his relationship with his parents deteriorated. 

“Dude, I didn’t know you could play like _that_ ,” Alex says in a breathless whisper. 

“Daily private lessons with my mom since I was strong enough to hold a bow.”

“Is that what you came out to L.A. to do? To play in an orchestra or something?” asks Luke. 

Reggie pauses. “I still haven’t figured out what I really came here to do.” 

\----

Living with Luke and Alex in Julie’s family’s garage is much easier than Reggie had imagined it would be. There may be little to no privacy outside of the bathroom, and even that is a bit questionable as the door doesn’t lock and Luke doesn’t seem to believe in knocking, but Reggie slots right into their daily routine and never feels like a burden the same way he did when he was staying with his cousin. 

The fact that he always brings them cookies after his shifts are over certainly helps things, too.

Occasionally, he gets the chance to sit in on one of the Julie and the Phantoms band practices, when his schedule allows. 

They are _amazing_. Reggie has never seen a singer with as much talent and stage presence as Julie Molina, but he knows that if they are able to get their big break, Julie and the Phantoms are going to have their name on every marquee from L.A. to Tokyo. 

And all they need is a bassist. 

\----

A few days before Christmas, Reggie is working the front counter early into his shift when Nick comes in again.

“Any luck finding more bands?” 

Nick gives a half shrug. “One or two more have signed up. I think if we can find maybe just one more, it’ll be enough. Ticket sales aren’t as high as we hoped, but every little bit still counts for something, doesn’t it?”

Nodding as he grabs a few random cookies from the display to put in a box for Nick, Reggie says, “I found a band that wants to perform but their bassist quit and they’re having trouble finding a new one. Know anyone?”

“Nope. Especially not so last minute. But this isn’t a huge show or anything, they can play one gig without a bassist, can’t they?” 

“Luke is too much of a perfectionist about his music to let that slide,” replies Reggie, as he slides the cookies across the counter and over to Nick. “But I’ve been thinking about selling my cello to buy a bass so I can join them.” 

“I didn’t order any cookies yet-- wait, you’re thinking of what? You play cello?” 

“Well, I can’t play it anymore if I sell it, but yeah,” says Reggie, as he waves off Nick’s attempt to hand him money for the cookies. “It’s not getting much use here, and I’m not even sure if I want to play in an orchestra anyway.” 

“That… seems like a really big decision. Maybe you should think about it a bit more,” Nick replies with concern etched in his voice. Reggie shrugs him off. 

“Either way, I’ll get my tickets for the Battle of the Bands soon. I promise I’ll be there!” 

Nick thanks him for the cookies that he didn’t actually order, and for the promise to come to the community center on New Years, and Reggie turns to call up the next customer only to realize it’s someone else he knows. What are the chances of that in a city of four million people, he wonders. 

“Hey man,” Willie greets him. “Any clue what Alex’s favorite cookie is? I want to surprise him.”

As he helps Willie, he thinks back to what Nick said about selling his cello. Truth be told, he doesn’t really want to. Maybe he hasn’t been as passionate about playing it in the last few years, and maybe in the end, he doesn’t really want to join an orchestra, but he does like playing it. 

Despite that, though, he desperately wants a sense of community that he’s never really had before, and he knows that joining a band will give him that. If he has to sacrifice a little for it, then it’ll be worth it. 

He works until close that day; Christmas is by far their busiest time of year, and he’s thankful for the extra hours. So far there’s been no talk of him paying rent to Julie or her family for letting him stay in their garage, but he wants to be able to start contributing somehow. 

The bus ride back to Los Feliz is more arduous than normal. L.A. isn’t known for having good public transportation on the best of days, but the holiday season seems to be much worse than normal, as one of his connections just never shows up at the bus stop. He should have called Alex for a ride instead of trying to brave the buses, but he figured that Willie had probably taken him out somewhere after he had picked up the cookies for him. Instead, Reggie winds up not getting home until a full hour after he was supposed to, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower. When he finally pushes through the garage doors, he’s greeted by a chorus of shouts. 

“Dude, where have you been?”

“Where are the cookies?”

“Don’t sell your cello!”

It takes him a moment to process everything. 

He turns to Alex first. “The buses were a mess and I missed a connection.” Then Luke. “We sold out of cookies today, sorry.” And last Julie. “How did you know I was planning to sell my cello?” 

“Willie told us,” she replies simply. Of course he did. 

“But you guys need a bassist! And my cello isn’t doing me any good sitting in the corner here. There are no auditions, and I don’t even really want to be in an orchestra anyway. I want to be a band like you guys.” 

“Well,” Luke says, drawing out the syllable, and for the first time Reggie realizes that he and Alex are trying to hide something behind them. “We might have solved that problem for you. But you have to promise us that you aren’t going to sell your cello first.”

Reggie blinks in confusion. “Okay? I won’t sell it.”

“Great!” says Alex with a grin, stepping to the side, as the three of them all shout, “Merry Christmas!” 

It’s a bass, red and white and shiny and _perfect_. Someone haphazardly wrapped green tinsel around its neck to make it look perfectly festive. 

Reggie stares in shock, his brain still unable to process what’s happening as Luke rattles on. “We were planning to give it to you for Christmas, but after Willie heard you say you wanted to sell your cello to buy one, we decided to give it to you today. Surprise?”

Reggie blinks back tears. 

“It is what you wanted, right?” asks Alex. 

“Yeah,” is all he can manage out before he gets choked up, and Alex gives him an awkward but reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, guys, so much.” 

“You’re more than welcome,” Julie replies sweetly. “So. Think you can manage to learn three of our songs for the Battle of the Bands?” 

“You’re inviting me to join the band?” he chokes out, his eyes flying across their faces for confirmation. 

“Of course!” replies Luke. “You’ve got music running through you, dude. We can’t let that go to waste.”

“So, what do you say? Will you join?” Alex asks, nerves creeping into his voice.

“I say let’s get to work!” 

\----

He calls Nick from the number on the sign-up sheet the next day that he’s in work, to tell him that he’s found another band for the show. Reggie’s pretty sure no one has ever thanked him so profusely in his entire life. 

Reggie just hopes he doesn’t disappoint him, since he’s only been playing bass for less than a week. 

Between YouTube tutorials on bass basics, Luke’s collection of old notes left behind by their previous bassist, and a lot of hard work, Reggie manages to get down their set for the Battle of Bands with confidence. 

And on New Years’, when they blow away their competition and win the Battle of the Bands, Julie pulls all three of the boys into a group hug. Reggie slings his arms across Julie and Luke’s backs as he buries his head into Alex’s chest, trying to push down the wave of emotion coursing through him. 

Reggie had moved to L.A. with a suitcase, his cello, and about three hundred dollars. 

One month later, he has a new nickname, a bass guitar, and friends for life.


End file.
